


A Peculiar Correspondence

by Shortsandramblings



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2016-02-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 04:36:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,683
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5150465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shortsandramblings/pseuds/Shortsandramblings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stannis Baratheon shares a agreeable correspondence with the botanist Alayn Stone, on their respective research into the world of Botany.<br/>Unfortunately, unknown to Stannis Baratheon, Mr A Stone does not actually exist, and is only a pseudonym used by Miss Sansa Stark, in order for her to publish her work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I know I need to continue on the many stories I already have, but this has been bugging me for some time, so had to publish the first chapter - won’t be a long story, though.  
> I also apologise for my minimal knowledge of plants (I did do biology in school though, so hopefully not too horrendous).

 

 

_Kings Landing, Westeros_

_96 th day of autumn, 1812 AC_

_My Dear Mr A Stone,_

_I was much impressed by your recent report with regards to your latest research. Your comparison study between the Blue Rose of the North and the Highgarden Or Rose was so thorough that even Mr Willas Tyrell was in envy of your work._

_I would say that it is a shame that you are hidden in the middle of the country side and unable to join the Society in Kings Landing, yet your continual exploration into the secrets of plants shows that the world of botany needs you where you already are. Once again you have proven yourself a dedicated scientist who has contributed to the study of botany in many ways._

_Please find joined to this correspondence my own examination of the Ironwood that I mentioned in my previous letter._

_Your thoughts are eagerly awaited._

 

_Yours Sincerely,_

_Mr Stannis Baratheon_

 

 

**\- : - : -**

 

 

 

“Oh bugger.”

 

Looking down at the her dress further, her fears were confirmed: dirt covered not only the egde of her skirts and her shoes, but quite a fair bit had just landed on the middle front - for everyone to see – not moments ago.

Looking up at the darkening sky, Sansa sighed. Her dress would need to be washed before it was ruined further, and there was no point in continuing to take more samples of the weirwood trees this afternoon as the sun was already quite low on the horizon.

 

“ _Sansa_... _Sansa_?”

The sound of her sister-in-law’s calling to her only confirmed it further: it was time to make her way back inside the house.

Sighing once more, Sansa carefully climbed down from the small ladder she had been using. – She would have to call on Bran or Arya’s assistance tomorrow to get higher into the trees.

She then quickly rinsed her hands in the bucket she had brought just for that purpose, before taking both bucket and tools with her and placing them in the Glass Garden. She then went back to take her treasures of the day: the sap and branches from the several of the weirwood trees.

 

As she reached the edge of the house, the samples still in her hands, Mrs Jeyne Stark looked at her in a mix of chastisement and concern, as her gaze went from Sansa’s treasures to her dress.

“Sansa, you will certainly get caught, if you keep this up.”

“Oh, Jeyne, don't fret. No one suspects a woman of being capable of intelligent thought, and I am happy to have the last laugh for a change. Besides, Arya is definitely ten times worse than I.”

Jeyne looked at her as if neither were a valid excuse to Sansa’s activities or the state of her dress.

Instead of having a possible disagreement with Jeyne, Sansa: “Have the others returned?”

“Bran is in the library, Rickon and the nanny, Osha, are in the nursery with little Eddy, but I do not know where your sister is. I was hoping that she was helping you out with your... _experiments_.”

Sansa looked out for the sun now hiding behind the trees, and with a tone of defeat - knowing it would probably not be the case - stated: “Hopefully she will think of supper and return soon.”

 

. . . .

 

 

As predicted, Arya did not come home till late in the evening.

Sansa was doing initial sketches of her samples, when she spied her sister trying to slip in unnoticed, from the open door of the study. She called her in.

As also foretold, Arya was in fact in a far worst state than the small amount of mud on Sansa’s skirt: her hair was untied, going in every direction, she was wearing a shirt and men’s breeches – probably Bran’s – and dirt not only covered her clothes but there was quite a fair amount also on her face.

“Jeyne made a fuss at dinner on your absence... You should have been home before dark.”

When her sister rolled her eyes, Sansa continued with a frown: “You know how she worries about Robb; it’s best if the rest of the family was all there for supper.”

“We all worry about Robb, what she does is concern herself to the point of _hysteria_.”

“More the reason to not make her more troubled about the rest of us. You should go gallivanting off to town all day, every day.”

Arya made a pained winning sound as she complained: “If I stay here, I start bothering Rodrick and the maids... or try and see how long I can stare into the fire without moving.”

Sansa laughed. “Do you really do that? It will give you freckles!”

Arya merely shrugged in response.

“Well, how about to keep busy outside: tomorrow, to make sure you say near the house but don’t disturb the help, you will get me samples of the weirwood trees like I previously showed you– you can even take Bran with you for company.”

Arya gave a small groan: “branches and sap?”

“Yes, both. And you will need to make sure the branches are neatly sawn off.”

“Yes...”

With a small smile, Sansa then added: “Breeches and a shirt will be more suitable for the task, less constricting in movement and less risk of a fall; so unfortunately you won’t be able to wear a dress...”

Arya face brightened at the comment, and replied with a smile: “...Well, if it is in the name of your research...”

 

 

. . . .

 

 

Sansa sat in the sun, lazily continuing her needlework, thinking of the samples already in the study and the ones Bran and Arya were collecting now, whilst Jeyne sat next to her doing her own sowing as she watched her son, who was staring at a butterly in the grass.

They sat in silence for a time, Sansa thinking about her article on hibernal sap movement in weirwood. She had spent the past month in intense study of the trees, making cut after cut in their branches, and wearying everyone – mainly her siblings - with her constant asking after new specimens.

 

Bringing her away from her thoughts, Jeyne broke the silence with: “Sansa, why won’t you marry Theon Greyjoy? If you gave him the least encouragement I’m sure he would propose in a heartbeat, and then you could be busy with babies and housekeeping. Your constant need for these _studies_ makes you so agitated and I’m sure Robb will disapprove if he ever finds out about the articles.”

Sansa sighed. “Ferns and flowers make much more pleasant society,” she said, “I’m afraid I find the silence of plants preferable to the prattle of Greyjoys.”

Jeyne obliged her by smiling, but it was not a natural smile.

“Now, my dear, what’s wrong?” Sansa asked, reaching her hand to her sister-in-laws’. Jeyne was two years her senior, plus the fact that she was married and had a child, but that didn’t change Sansa’s feeling of maternal protectiveness towards the young woman. – Being quite a shy pretty lady from the south, Jeyne had none of the Stark strength.

“Oh, nothing new, Sansa, I am just worrying, as always.”

Sansa gave a weak smile: “About Robb?”

“Yes, of course. I read the list of names in the paper, and Mr. Umber’s name was on it. You remember: he came to visit us once when Robb was on leave.”

“Jon Umber?- _Small Jon_! Oh, no! Of course I remember him, he and Robb were old school friends.”

Sansa could notice tears forming in the corner of Jeyne’s eye as she gave a small nod: “Yes.”

The little boy turned around and looked curiously at his mother. She tried to reassure him, despite the fact that the tears where now starting to fall: “It’s all right, love, why don’t you find Aunt Sansa a flower or something.”

Sansa gave her a handkerchief but Jeyne made no effort to restrain her sobs. “What if he is gone, how will we manage?”

“Jeyne dear, Robb’s name wasn’t on the list, so it doesn’t signify. I’m sure he will be very cut up about Jon Umber, but that is how war is. Really, darling, how many times have you grieved for his death already? Most people are mourned only once, you know.”

Jeyne laughed, though the tears still glinted in her brown eyes. “You are right, Sansa, I’m the silliest creature on earth.”

Moving closer and rubbing her siste-in-law’s arm, Sansa tried to lighten the mood: “I think I could challenge you for that title. After all, I’m the one corresponding with an aged botanist for the dubious satisfaction of advancing human knowledge. Not even my own name in the journals, but a fictional man’s!”

Jeyne gave a small giggle.

“Come love, dry your eyes. You are quite ruining your good looks with all this moping... What will Robb think when he returns?”

Her sister-in-law hastened to pat her eyes with the handkerchief and took several steadying breaths. In her heart, Sansa was just as worried about Robb as Jeyne was, and it was this growing anxiety that drove her into a frenzy of experimenting and writing.

Marriage and the responsibility of managing one’s own home were not as diverting as Jeyne considered them, for Sansa had ruled in all domestic matters at Winterfell House since her Mother’s death, and her brother’s marriage had changed very little. Jeyne was far too submissive to change the age-old traditions of the House, and ready to accept anything Sansa suggested. Yet idleness agreed with her as little as with most people, and recently the strain of her husband’s long absence had been bearing down on her. She could not be cajoled into an interest in botany, and although Sansa tried her best to keep her sister-in-law busy, the traditional feminine occupations of embroidery and sketching were not calculated to divert a troubled mind.

Thankfully, little Eddy excited cries interrupted Jeyne’s heartache and Sansa’s own dismal thoughts.

“Look, Aunty Sansa, look what I found!”

He ran to her, and much to her astonishment, deposited a small white flower in her palm. It was the first snowdrop of the year.

 

 

 

**\- : - : -**

 

 

 

The road wound around a final bend and the house appeared before him, just as the innkeeper at the village had described. The façade was rather forbidding, and the building itself was of an impressive size. As he drew near he noted that Winterfell House’s situation was far pleasanter than the houses closer to town, for it had a view of the river on one side, and the garden, rolling into the fields and weirwood forest - that Mr Stone had previously mentioned in their correspondence - beyond, on the other.

The sound of children broke him from his thoughts, making Stannis wonder, belatedly, whether Mr. Stone had a wife, and wished he had taken more care about his dress. His fingers were already rather dirty from digging up a fern. It was too late to find a stream to wash them, but he wiped them as best as he could on his handkerchief, and then re-arranged his neck-cloth, and slung the two baskets - one for specimens, and one for his tools – across his shoulder. That would have to do for Mrs. Stone, if she existed. It was strange how little he knew of Mr Stone, even after such a lengthy and significant association, he mused, walking up the wide gravel path to the house. He had imagined a man similar to himself: somewhat of a recluse, gentleman of independent means, and leisurely habits; a bachelor possibly a little older than himself between forty and sixty, with perhaps an attentive nephew to aid him in his studies. Still, if there was a Mrs. Stone, he hoped that she would not deny him a cup of tea, or even better a glass of lemon water, simply on account of his dirty fingernails.

 

An old servant greeted him at the door. "Good morning, sir, can I help you?"

"Good morning. Yes, I'm here to see Mr. Stone. Is he in?”

The man looked at Stannis in confusion “Mr. Stone, sir?... I’m sorry, but there’s no Mr. Stone here...”

It was Stannis’ turn to frown: “But is this not Winterfell House?”

“It is, sir.”

Trying to stop his teeth from grinding, Stannis persisted: “Then how can Mr. Stone not live here? Who does live here?”

“Why, that would be Mr. and Mrs. Robb Stark and their son, and Miss Stark, Miss Stark - Mr. Stark’s sisters - and young masters Bran Stark and Rickon Stark - Mr Stark’s brothers - but I’m sorry to say, sir, that there’s no Mr. Stone... At least none in these parts that I know of.”

 

As he spoke, a young woman came around the corner of the house, carrying a small child who was crying loudly. She stopped suddenly when she saw them, and her face grew pale. “What is it, what has happened? ...Oh, Robb... _Robb_ , I knew it.”

Before Stannis could say another word, she had begun to sob. The child ceased crying to regard its mother, and Stannis and the butler exchanged a look of helplessness, before the servant tried to reassure her:

“He doesn’t bring news of Mr. Stark, m’am,”

At the words, feeling uncomfortable with his proximity to an agitated woman, Stannis spoke gracelessly “Madam, please do not agitate yourself. I assure you, I bring no ill news of your husband.”

Not knowing what else to do, he took out a clean handkerchief and handed it to her. She in turn held out the child to him and, bewildered, he took it. - He had not carried a child in his arms since Renly had been quite small, when his own parents had died.

The young woman wiped her eyes, sniffed and squared her shoulders.

“There now,” he said, still feeling uncomfortable but somewhat relieved that the woman at least was regaining some of her senses at her. What a ninny she was; comely, with chestnut hair and a slender figure, but quite young, and perhaps a touch hysterical - the sort who made a man feel protective, until he realised that it was most likely easier to control a regiment than her strange moods.

“They say no news is good news. ‘ _Robb_ ’ is… your husband... Mr Stark?” he ventured. “And is he an officer?”

She nodded. “You must excuse my sudden outburst. I live in constant fear of his life.”

Although he didn’t think Mr. Robb Stark would at all want his young wife to be making such a scene, Stannis gave a small nod: “I am sure he would be much gratified.”

The tears wiped from her face, he handed the infant back to her.

“The gentleman was looking for a Mr. Stone, m’am, and I had to inform him that there is no one of that name in the house.”

Bouncing the baby in her arms, Mrs Stark looked from the butler to Stannis: “Mr. Stone?...” she frowned in thought before adding: ... “... I wonder whether Miss Stark may know of a Mr. Stone. After all, she grew up here. Rodrik, will you please tell Miss Stark that there is a Mr…?”

Stannis provided: “Baratheon, Stannis Baratheon.”

Strangely, unlike the previous name that barely got any reaction from either person, Mrs Stark’s eyes widened as if in recognition when he presented himself and he wondered why. Perhaps she had mistaken him for someone else - it seemed very unlikely that this young woman would be in the habit of reading the botanical magazines. And she certainly couldn’t have heard of him from Mr. Stone, as she appeared to know no more of him than did the servant.

“…that there is a Mr. Baratheon who is searching for a gentleman named Stone,” she finished, continuing to fuss with the baby.

“Of course, m’am,” said Rodrik, and trotted off into the house.

 

Stannis turned to survey the prospect and stifled a sigh.

No Mr. Stone, no tea, and definitely no lemon water.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

 

She was being foolish and she knew it.

 _Gods_ – it’s not even _her,_ Stannis Baratheon was here to call on, it was Alayn Stone. - Well he kind of was asking on  _her_ , but Mr Baratheon didn’t know that.

 

When Rodrick announced that there was a Mr. Stannis Baratheon wishing to see her, Sansa nearly broke the glass slides she was carrying. They had jumped in her hand as though she had been burnt. How could he be here? He was always too busy to leave Kings Landing, and if he did it was to go to Dragonstone, or go on talks about his research at the Citadel or in Highgarden; not travel this far north!

Fear then ran through her: he must have discovered her identity…

When Rodrik had then further explained that: “The gentleman was looking for a Mr. Stone, Miss...,” she breathed a sigh of relief. “... I informed him that there was no one of that name in the House, nor in the neighbourhood for that matter. I didn’t like to contradict him, especially from the distressed expression on his face, but thankfully Mrs. Stark said I should come and fetch you and -”

“Where is Mr. Baratheon now?”

“Outside, Miss, talking to Mrs. Stark... She took an awful turn when she saw him, she did... all that crying and weeping, thinking he’d brought news of Master Robb. I didn’t know what to do... the gentleman tried to ease -”

Not wanting Rodrik to blabber on about Jeyne’s hysterics, Sansa quickly cut him off: “- Thank you, Rodrick, that will be all.”

Before she quickly added: “Oh, actually – one more thing ... Could you please ask Mrs. Stark if she wouldn’t mind having tea brought into the drawing room and entertain our guest whilst I finish up.”

Part of knew it wouldn’t be prudent to have Mr Baratheon stay for tea, but he had come all this way – to see her fictitious alter ego - and Mother had taught her to always be courteous to guests, even those that were unwanted. Not that it was the case here: Sansa couldn’t pass up this opportunity to meet the man who had written all those interesting letters and helped her develop on her own researches.

Rodrik gave a small bow as he retired for the room: “Very good, Miss.”

 

Sansa, in contrast to her sister-in-law, was not one to give voice to her agitation.

Anyone who saw her move about the room, taking off her apron and washing the green stains off her hands in the sink, would not have known that any greater annoyance than an unexpected visitor troubled her.

Unfortunately this was not the case on the inside: Sansa’s mind was in turmoil.

This was probably the reason why, after putting order to the desk and her studies, that she had rushed to her room and had changed into her nicest day dress and fixing all the loose strands of hair back in to a elegant bun.

 

As she lingered a little longer, making sure not a thread was out of place - not realising how long she was keeping Mr. Baratheon waiting – Sansa wondered what she would say to her guest.

In the year they had corresponded, Sansa had given the odd thought to what she might respond to Mr Baratheon if he invited Alayn Stone to Kings Landing for give a speech at the Society, or attend a reading. The only excuses she had come up with so far were a sudden trip away or being an invalid. She had also given thought of possibly ‘killing’ Mr. Alayn Stone in the future, if his existence proved too troublesome.

However, the prospect of Mr. Baratheon appearing at her brother’s doorstep, especially without any forewarning, had not been considered.

 

 

. . . .

 

 

When Sansa paused just outside the door to the drawing room, she could unfortunately only hear her sister-in-law prattling on about the house and the family. The visitor remained silent.

Feeling her heart beat race a little faster, she smoothed the non-existent cresses in her skirts one last time, inhaled a breath of courage and pushed the door open...

 

...To then be directly caught off guard once more:

The man who stood up as she entered was not at all the one she had expected, and she stifled the urge to look around the room for a different Mr. Baratheon.

She had always imagined her correspondent being of a certain age, possibly a little on the portly side, similar to the illustrations they would see in the newspapers about the different lords and influential men in the capital.

She then recognised that the clues to the man related in the letters were to that of a person who spent a good deal of his time outdoors, either collecting plants, or presenting his findings at the Society or any other botanical circle or scientific institutions.

It should have come as no surprise then that Mr. Baratheon was a tall, broad shouldered and well-built man, definitely less than forty. His bearing seemed to be of a one calm and composed. She also quickly studied his manner of dress which seemed to be slightly behind the fashion; actually pleasing her to know that he was no dandy, nor did he have one of those beards- moustaches that seemed in fashion.

 

Giving him a welcoming curtsy, she spoke clearly, her voice not betraying her nervousness of _finally_ meeting him:

“Mr. Baratheon, I apologise for keeping you waiting. Please, do take a seat.”

Sansa sat down next to her sister-in-law. Jeyne’s brown eyes looked even larger than usual, her expression a combination of anxiety, curiosity, and... _something else_ that Sansa didn’t quite like.

Giving her a great smile, Jeyne didn’t even let Mr Baratheon reply, before she spoke: “Oh its quite alright dear: Mr Baratheon was just telling me how he is a quite a known gentleman in the sciences that has come all the way from the _capital_... and wouldn’t you believe it, Mr Baratheon has yet to find a lovely lady to persuade him from a life of bachelorhood.”

Sansa wanted to roll her eyes at her sister-in-law: all Jeyne seemed to be able to think about were _husbands_ and _children_.

“Jeyne, perhaps you will put little Eddy down for his nap and then come and have your tea.”

Thankfully Jeyne went out obediently.

 

Once the door closed, her guest finally spoke:

“Miss Stark, I must apologise for trespassing on your hospitality.”

“Not at all, Mr. Baratheon. From my good-sister’s interesting introduction am I right in assuming that you are Mr. Stannis Baratheon, the botanist?”

With an expression of mild surprise, he answered affirmative: “Yes, I did not think my reputation was quite as widespread as all that.”

Sansa improvised: “I have heard Mr. Stone speak of you with great admiration on many an occasion.” - The lie came so naturally that she actually scared herself, before she wondered if it had been a mistake to even admit to recognising the name. It was always details that gave away a lie.

“Sugar?”

He took none.

Instead he looked at her with fervent interest: “So you _do_ know Mr. Stone, Miss Stark?”

The meeting would have so much more enjoyable and interesting if only she could be entirely open and honest with him. Unfortunately she had to be careful. - Perhaps this was a horrible mistake and she should have sent him away.

She handed him his cup.

 

Mr Baratheon, ignorant of her troubled thoughts, continued eagerly:

“I have been corresponding with him for some time. He is a very agreeable and intelligent gentleman. It has been a hankering of mine to official meet him and have a true dialogue into the mysteries of nature. As fortune would have it, a life-long friend invited me to stay with him in the neighbourhood. The possibility of meeting Mr Stone only prompted me further to not only accept my friend’s welcome invitation but arrive earlier than expected.”

Sansa frowned and could help but ask – even if already knowing the answer: “Mr Stone is expecting you?”

Mr Baratheon looked a little ashamed as he looked down at his tea: “No – in my excitement and haste, I forgot to forewarn Mr Stone...”

But there was barely a pause before his dark blues met hers anxiously:

“But both Mrs Stark and ... Rodrik informed me that Mr. Stone does not reside here. Is this true? I do address my letters here, unless there is another Winterfell House in the area?”

Sansa squirmed a little under his scrutiny, feeling her cheeks go a little pink at her continued her deception to the gentleman:

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Baratheon, but Mr. Stone does not live here. He is quite the recluse, you see. He only occasionally comes to look over my late-father’s books and journals and also uses the trip to give me his letters for him. His discourse on botany interests me very much.”

“Ah, then he lives in the neighbourhood? You can direct me to his house?”

Feeling even more distraught, Sansa lied once more: “Oh Mr Baratheon, to tell you would be to betray his trust... Even so, I am afraid you are too late: he left not three days ago, to go further north. He wanted to go Beyond the Wall, to study the weirwoods there, before Winter came.”

Mr. Baratheon frowned: “Miss Stark, you grieve me.”

Sansa was sorry to see that he really did look as though he had suffered a great disappointment. Yet her heart started to beat wildly with fear and excitement, making her feel light-headed, as she realised that his previous words of praise had not been written out of mere courtesy but that he was interested in Mr Stone as a person, not just the botanical he could offer: he was interested in _her_ and her thoughts.

She took a gulp of hot tea, and nearly choked.

 

She was grateful that Jeyne took this moment to reappear and give a distraction from herself.

Her sister-in-law re-joined Sansa on the sofa, as she declared with a satisfied smile: “Sweet little Eddy is sound asleep...” before she noticed Sansa’s face and complexion and added, worried: “Are you all right, dear? Drinking your tea too quickly again?”

When Sansa gave a convincing enough nod, Jeyne turned back to their visitor keenly: “Well, Mr. Baratheon, what do you think of our countryside? It is rather fine, is it not? As is its inhabitants, no? You must grow so weary of people from Kings Landing.”

Clearly his throat, Mr Baratheon gave a curt nod of approval: “I find this part of the country quite charming, Mrs. Stark. I’m sure it is twice as colorful as the south, especially in the Autumn. I only wish I could have Mr. Stone’s guidance in examining the local flora.”

Worried that Jeyne might let something slip, Sansa hastily explained: “I was just telling Mr. Baratheon that he has unfortunately missed Mr. Stone by a few days. Mr. A. has gone up to the Castle Balck and further, you know, Jeyne. I hope the open air will do him good.”

Looking a little confused, Jeyne took the tea her sister-in-law offered and merely gave murmured: “Indeed.”

 

At the silence, Sansa longed to look inside the baskets Mr Baratheon had deposited at his feet, and ask him about them. She so wished to have an afternoon of conversation just to converse with someone on the world of botany. Only her Father, when he was alive, had spoke of the wonders of plants with her, even though he only treated botany as an educational hobby. Now Sansa had one of Westeros’ leading botanist in her drawing room, and she talked of the weather.

However she knew it would be a wiser and safer option to ignore them and feign ignorance on anything linked with plants, hopefully ending their meeting as soon as possible. - Nevertheless, it was a small price to pay to keep the correspondence alive.

 

After a few more minutes of conversation, Mr. Baratheon courteously stood to take his leave, and Sansa tried not to show her relief.

“Mrs. Stark, Miss Stark, thank you very much for your kindness. I must trouble you only for the direction of Mr. Stone, if I may, Miss Stark, for I would very much like to write to him about my disappointment in not finding him here.”

“Oh! Mr. Baratheon, I am very sorry to disappoint you again, but I do not have his address: when going north, especially Beyond the Wall, one’s life becomes more nomadic... I fear he will be unreachable until his return.”

Mr. Baratheon sighed. “It seems fate is conspiring to keep me away from my correspondent. Could you ladies please direct me down the most long-winded route back to the village?”

Sansa smiled: “Of course, Mr. Baratheon, come with me and I will point it out to you.”

They moved to the back garden, facing the fields and weirwood forest.

 

“This path will take you to the walled garden. You must not mind its state, but turn to your right after you enter it and you will see another gate. A path from there leads through the woods and brings you out by the river. You can follow the river downstream to the village.”

Bowing and offering his hand, Mr Baratheon replied: “Thank you, Miss Stark, I’m much obliged.”

She shook it, answering in turn: “Goodbye, Mr. Baratheon.”

But as she did so, Sansa also realised that she would very likely never see him again. He had no reason to visit, and even if she travelled down to Kings Landing when Robb returned, what possible pretext could she have for seeing him?

She then hesitated a moment before adding, “If you should require any light reading into the wolrd of plants, there are copies of ' _Flora Sinensis - Plantarium '_ in my Father’s library, that Mr A sometimes has a look through to help him with his research. I’m sure Mrs. Stark and Mr Stone would have no objection to your consulting them.”

“Thank you, Miss Stark, that is a generous offer indeed. I doubt I shall find anything in my friend’s library, for whatever his faults, botany is not one of them.”

Her smile widened, and after another bow, he strolled away, walking with long, unhurried strides. She yearned to go with him, to show him her favourite places. He cast a glance over his shoulder, and contemplated her for a moment before waving. She was glad he couldn’t see her blush from that distance. She waved back, and hurried to the house, smiling, despite her earlier thoughts.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

Stannis started walking down the path Miss Stark had indicated, thinking on the house he had just left.

Stannis’ disappointment for not having found Mr. Stone had been somewhat alleviated by the tea that had refreshed him – though he would have personally preferred lemon water.

He had also been gratified by the fact that Miss Stark had more her wits about her than her sister-in-law. She had a steady gaze and confidence that differentiated her from many of her sex. Best was that she didn’t seem to be the type to burst into tears when agitated, remembering how he had first met Mrs Stark. His instincts, as well as the few moments he had spent with her, told Stannis that Miss Stark was of a more studious disposition than the most, with a sharp intellect; one ready for intelligent conversation, instead of mere comments of the weather or the latest fashion.

Yet she wasn’t the person he wished to converse with. That added with the fact that she had probably had no more interest in the world of plants more than wanting a lovely bouquet from a gentleman caller.

 _On the other hand_...

Stannis frowned when another realisation passed through him: _Miss Stark knows of Mr Stone_ – she seemed to know him quite well in fact...

It’s strange that the house butler didn’t know of Mr. Stone when his mistress was evidently on familiar terms with the man, he thought; familiar enough to converse with him and collect his letters.

There had also been something amiss in the way she had talked about Mr Stone. – She had seemed somewhat evasive in answering his questions. In proving that she was bright, she also proved that her mind could be employed in deceiving him very prettily if she chose. Yet, she did not appear to be the sort of woman who would use such tactics unless it was necessary. Why she should choose to do so was also a mystery.

 

His thoughts shifted when Stannis neared the river and he came upon the famed forest of weirwood trees that Mr Stone had mentioned on several occasions in their correspondence.

For a few moments, he contented himself with observing the plants around him and watching the water run in front of the mass of trees. Sighing, Stannis realised that with his busy life in Kings Landing, he missed the early pleasures that had driven him to the world of botany.

Deciding to take this stroll to the most of his advantage, Stannis finally started walking through the illustrious trees Mr Alayn Stone seemed so very fond of.

After passing the first few, he noticed that there were several branches missing from one of the red trees: branches that had been neatly sawn off, not broken. The stumps left on the trunk were of various thicknesses, and the sap had seeped out of the cuts and hardened, as a blood-clot on a suture. - Mr. Stone had talked about studying the movement of sap in weirwood trees, and had previously proposed an experiment in a letter: the study of trees growing in the same area, at various seasons, and compare the amount of sap found in each.

Stannis Baratheon ran his fingers along the truncated branches, wondering. The missing branches were spaced evenly up the height of the tree. And after further observation, he also noticed what looked like older cuts that had blackened with age from some of the other trees. - _It requires a certain level of agility to climb some of the branches_...

The other conundrum was that the new cuts made no sense even if Mr Stone was studying these trees. According to Miss Stark, he had gone North three days past – these cuts were more recent then that. This brought Stannis back to his previous thoughts about Miss Stark: **_had_** _she lied_?

He shook his head: _even if she had deceived him in some way what could possibly be the reason to do so_?

Thankfully a more suitable explanation occurred: the _assistant_!

Of course, Mr Stone had mentioned an assistant who helped him with his work. There was a chance that the student had not gone North with his mentor, and instead had been instructed to continue the experiment here, for a true comparison between the species of trees.

A sigh of relief ran through Stannis: surely someone in the village would know of this assistant’s existence. With the failure to speak with Mr Stone, he would have to satisfy his curiosity with the man’s mentee.

 

Suddenly youthful cries broke him from his thoughts.

Looking further into the distance between the branches Stannis noticed two small figures. Frowning and intrigued, Stannis moved closer until he realised they were in fact two boys who seemed to be arguing.

However, having moved close enough to properly notice them, Stannis had also announced his own presence to the other two occupants of the forest. Soon, the three found themselves staring at each other, all with different levels of frowns.

However, Stannis focus soon moved from the boys confused- wary faces to the objects at their feet... Or more specifically, at the samples of weirwood at their feet, as well as tools to cut and extract the branches and sap... Just like in the research mentioned by his illusive correspondent.

Stannis couldn’t help but smile, his heart even beating a little faster. - _The day might not be lost_.

 

Clearing his throat, Stannis introduced himself and inquired: “Good afternoon, apologise for the disruption and for the possible strange inquiry, but my name is Stannis Baratheon and I can’t help but wonder if those jars full of bits of the trees are samples for Mr Alayn Stone?”

The two boys stared at him for a long pause; the faces still frown, before understanding seemed to have reached the one with the dark hair. But instead of properly answering he turned to the red headed one and said in a lower voice, eyes rolling: “Of course: _Baratheon_... _Stone_... should have known this had to do with Sansa and her ‘ _secret man_ ’, no one else wonders around here except to possibly visit the Godswood...”

 

At the comment it was now Stannis’ turn to be confused. _– Sansa* and her ‘secret man’?_...

At the comment, Stannis couldn’t help but wonder if Alayn Stone likened in a secret relationship with a lady* of the town? Did that mean he was someone the young lady’s family seemed to not approve of?...

The boys, who had been whispering some more, turned back their attention to Stannis, and finally answered the question: “Yes, these samples are for _Mr Stone_...” the boy’s eyes rolling as he said the name.

Even though confused on the manner in which the boy had replied, Stannis instead asked: “Are either one of you his assistant then?”

The dark haired boy gave a snort: “No... We only help out when Sansa forces too.”

Before Stannis could inquire any more, the other boy added, more courteously: “I’m sorry sir, but we’ll have to head home.”

Still very much confused by the whole exchange, and how it had definitely not gone as excepted, Stannis ended up only giving the two boys a curt nod of understanding and thanking them for their time.

It was only after several moments, the boys and jars of samples having disappeared and he himself having moved several steps in the opposite direct, that Stannis groaned stupidly realising that he should have asked the two boys who this ‘ _Sansa’_ was and where he could find her: she was obviously an important piece to the mystery of Mr Stone for himself.

 

. . . . . .

 

The innkeeper told him undeniably that no _Stones_ had ever lived in or near the village for as long as he could remember, though there was a family of _Snows_ who lived near the mill.

Not wanting to admit defeat, Stannis persisted: “Is there anyone in the area interested in botany?”

This time the portly fellow gave him a chief grin: “Why, that there is, sir, a great many, and I count myself among ‘em. We hold meetings right here on Sundays. We also keep a herbarium and a small library, as well.”

Stannis raised his eyebrows in suprise, before a plump woman added with a chuckle: “An’ Mr. Barth lets the men meet here out of the kindness of his own heart, ain’t that right, Mr. Barth?”

Eyes narrowing on the woman, Mr Barth retorted: “Well if the men want a pint of ale as well, who’m I to deny ‘em?”

The woman hooted louder: “They get’s a pint whether they like it or no.”

The landlord scowled: “Botany’s a serious business, Betty, and I’m happy to support those who take an interest in it.”

As his wife only chuckling once more, Mr Barth truned back his attention to Stannis and led him to a smaller room to the side of the main drink and dining area. Inside, Stannis noticed a wall covered in shelves filled with books and papers, as well as a few dried plants in jars.

Standing in the centre of the room, Mr Barth opened his arms around him and stated proudly: “Here’s our herbarium, and little library.”

Stannis couldn’t help but be impressed at the assiduous work of these men, most of whom were surely labourers.

The innkeeper continued with a small explanation as Stannis started wondering around the room:

“Everyone brings in a specimen and it gets passed around and the name repeated along until everyone has learned it. Then Mr. Farlen, who is our secretary, attaches it to a sheet and writes its name and places it in the herbarium.”

Stannis nodded in approval: “Remarkable: this is a fine collection indeed.”

“Aye, we have the best herbarium in these parts, and the best library too, thanks to our patrons.”

Stannis picked out a book at random. It was an old edition of Hudson’s Flora Anglica, and opening it he was astonished to read, on the inside of the cover, the words: ‘ _donated to the Wintertown Botanical Circle by Mr. Eddard R. Stark. 1_ _799._ ’

“The Starks are your patrons?”

“Aye, sir. That is, the former Mr. Stark. He passed away some years ago. He often gave us books, and sometimes condescended to lead our little meetings.”

“And who leads the meetings now?”

“Well, that would be Mr. Mikken, sir.”

“Ah. Would you mind introducing me, Mr. Barth?”

The landlord gave a nod, leading them both back into the main space to a small gentleman in one of the corners.

“Mr. Mikken, this is Mr…?”

“Mr. Stannis Baratheon. How do you do, Mr. Mikken?”

At the introduction, Mr. Mikken stood up and shook Stannis’ hand vigorously, his face full of enthusiasm:

“Mr. Baratheon? Mr. Stannis Baratheon? What an honour to meet a scholar as distinguished as yourself! Pray, tell me, sir, what brings you to our town?”

Not being used to such flattery, Stannis took his hand back from the man’s grasp and cleared his throat:

“Well, I wouldn’t say I’m all that distinguished. I am just here visiting my friend, Mr. Seaworth of Onion Lodge.”

A small amount of the light in the man’s eyes diminished as Mr Mikken confessed: “Ah, Mr. Seaworth. I do not have the pleasure of being acquainted with the gentleman... But _you_ , sir, I have read your articles with the keenest interest. Minds like yours are not to be met with often. You’ll join our meeting this Sunday? I’m sure our gathering will seem humble to you, accustomed as you are to Kings Landing society, but we would all be honoured by your presence if you could condescend to join us.”

Trying to cut short the man’s fawning, Stannis readily agreed before inquiring: “I would be delighted, Mr. Mikken. I wished to ask you a question, if I may. Do you know a man by the name of _Stone_ by any chance? He may also have someone assisting him in his research. I had come to understand that he or at least his assistant may live in the near here. It is essential that I find him.”

Stannis looked at the small man eagerly as Mr Mikken looked down at the table frowning in concentration: “ _Stone_... Now let me see…”

Unfortunately, moments later, Mr Mikken looked back up shaking his head, a disappointing frown on his face: “I’m sorry Mr Baratheon, but I do not know anyone of that name.”

 

Before Stannis could show any of his disappointment or ask any more questions however, Davos arrived.

“Baratheon! Sorry I’m late. The trip over took longer than it should have. Have you ordered dinner?”

Taking his leave of Mr. Mikken, Stannis greeted his friend before the both of them sat down at an available table.

Barely seated, Davos asked: “Did you meet your Mr _Stone_? Did ou two have an amazing time, talking about the bees and the pollen...”

Stannis growled at this friend mocking humour: “No! I’ve questioned everyone I met. The two ladies I found at Winterfell House claim that he has gone North in the name of research. Two boys I met in the forest sometimes come to his aid but apart from that: nothing!”

Davos frowned sympathetically at Stannis’ frustration: “Ah, bad luck... Winterfell House: that’s the Starks’ residence isn't it?”

Stannis nodded in confirmation: “Yes. Do you know them?”

“I knew of their Father: the late Mr Stark. A good family, well-established. Mr Eddard Stark came often into town, speaking with most. I seem to remember that the current Mr Stark is in the navy... or is it the army?”

With a small twinkle in his eye, he gave a cheaky grin to Stannis as he added: “I’ve also heard that both Mrs. Stark and Mr Stark’s sister are rather pretty things... Would you agree?”

Stannis frowned at the added comment: “Just so. I don’t think you would have thought Mrs Stark pretty had you seen her burst into tears at the sight of me, however -“

Davos bursted into laughter at the comment: “I daresay, she probably not the first woman to do so...”

Stannis scowled further: “... She thought I bore ill tidings of her husband.”

Not letting Davos comment further on his meeting of Mrs Stark, Stannis continued: “On the other hand, Miss Stark was rather more composed and had the civility to offer me tea.”

“And?”

Stannis frowned: “And what?”

“Was she as pretty as I have heard?”

The scowl reappeared: “That is not the issue, nor the intent of my visit to the house.”

Davos persisted: “The girl... or should I say woman, is known for being attractive, is from one of the most respected and wealthy families in town, and in turn has probably quite a dowry... surely such a lady would be agreeable to any distinguished, well-known gentlemen from Kings Landing?”

Stannis lifted an eyebrow.

“Isn’t maybe it time for you to set up your own home, Baratheon?... and leave bachelor life behind and settle into a proper home, a child or two, and a wife to keep your bed warm? Doesn’t that sound fine?”

“Very fine, Seaworth. Perhaps too fine.”

“Nonsense. It’s my secret ambition to see you comfortably settled, and Mrs. Seaworth agrees.”

Stannis: “And I shall be sorry to disappoint you, Seaworth.”

 

Davos sighed in resignation: “Fine... So this Stone fellow: explain to me what happened.”

 

As they ate, Stannis went through his day, starting with the meeting of the Winterfell butler and the hysteric Mrs Stark to finish with the introduction to the town’s Botany Circle.

Finally at the end of the explanation, Davos seemed to agree with him that Stannis should probably find this ‘Sansa’ or find and question those two boys further. - _Women and children always seemed to be the best gossips, knowing everything going on around them_.

 

His friend then went on to wonder out loud if Mr Stone was not the man’s true name and Miss Stark was protecting Mr Stone’s identity.

When Stannis asked for a possible explanation, Davos first supplied that, since both Miss Stark and this mysterious ‘Sansa’ knew him... Mr Stone also being referred to as the ‘ _secret man’_ , there was a possibility the man was a rake, seducing the different women of town under a false name.

When seeing that Stannis did not approve greatly of this idea, Davos then suggested that, with women were always being in each other’s confidence, maybe Miss Stark’s friend had spoken to her about her mysterious beau. If this were true, it would mean that it was now Stannis’ turn to convince Miss Stark that he didn’t want to break her friend’s confidence, but merely meet the man behind the letters.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * - Probably obvious to understand, but wanted to make it clear that when Stannis meets Bran and Arya, he had yet to know Sansa’s first name.


	4. Chapter 4

 

 Although secretly pleased she had finally met the famed botanist that she had be corresponding with, Sansa felt it necessary to chastise her sister in law on her foolishness.

“Jeyne, why did you think it was a good idea to send for me? What good could have come of me meeting Mr Baratheon? I'm still worried if he believed me or not about Mr Stone.”

“Oh, Sansa, don’t be angry with me:  I was so off guard, first thinking he had come because of Robb, and then when he introduced himself, I was unprepared by the answer since he was nothing like I imagined. You should really take some of the responsibility as you are the one who told me he was ‘ _aged’_ , but I am certain he is five and thirty at most."

Sansa concede that point, seeing as even she had imagined him very different:

"Yes, I was just as surprised, though I ought to have known better. It’s clear from his letters that he’s a very active man.”

Stopping her hair styling midway, Jeyne turned from the mirror and looked directly at Sansa with a small smile: "And quite handsome, don’t you think? ... Maybe not as fashionable, or neat as Robb, but still..."

Even though Sansa presumed she probably wouldn't enjoy the end of the comment, she couldn't help but ask: "But still?..."

“But still quite _eligible_.”

Sansa only rolled her eyes in response. 

Unfortunately, Jeynee noticed and persisted: “Well, why not? You seem to get on well enough in writing. Neither of you talk anything but plants.”

Shaking her head, Sansa replied: “I’m sure if Mr. Baratheon is on the lookout for a wife, he must look to someone from town and probably younger and better endowed than I!”

“But if he only knew that you were the one who wrote all those articles, I’m sure-"

Dread ran through Sansa at the idea: “No! Jeyne: under no circumstance can Mr Baratheon know who Mr Stone really is!... Promise me, Jeyne: you will not give him any indication to the fact that I am Mr Stone!"

"But-"

"-Jeyne, no!"

Her sister in law sighed in resignation: "Very well... I promise."

Sansa gave a nod of approval, before stating: "in any case, I doubt we shall ever meet him again.”

“No, I suppose not."

 

. . .

 

Thankfully for the rest of the evening and the next day, Jeyne did not mention their previous caller.

Instead, Sansa was able to spend the next day focusing on the collection of new samples from the weirwood trees that Arya and Bran brought back; though Sansa could clearly tell who had taken which specimen.

Nevertheless, there were a few moments where Sansa did privately ponder over the conversation she had had with Mr. Baratheon, and replayed it in her mind as though he had known her true identity. - How pleasant it would have been to have had such an interesting an intelligent conversation.

 

Unfortunately by mid afternoon, Sansa was forced to take an unwanted stop for the rest of the day: she had to find Arya before Jeyne did and get them both ready for this evening: much to Sansa, and especially Arya’s grief, Jeyne had made them both promise that they would all go to the Florents’ dinner party.

Sansa, for her part, would have rather have continued studying her specimens than engage in less than sincere small talk and be updated about the latest gossip. She was also confident that Arya would rather be doing literally _anything_ else but wear a dress and act like a lady. However, the knowledge that Jeyne needed to this, her face brightening at the promise of a dinner party, convinced Sansa that the evening was still happening. – Hopefully the outcome of the party would mean a calmer, less troubled Jeyne for the next few days, which could only be a good thing for everyone.

Though, to be honest, the best solution would be that Robb write to them: Jeyne would be so much easier to be around.

It had been nearly two years since Robb had left Winterfell and at least three months since the last letter; the whole family felt her older brother’s absence. Like the rest of her siblings, Sansa felt his absence as intensely as Jeyne, but her worry blended with a feeling of resentment for Robb and his lack of common sense, decency and responsibility; of how he had suddenly left them all to join the men fighting, leaving Sansa practically alone to not only take care of the rest of the family but also the running of the house. This rancour was her own way of not feeling too contrite about her excessive botany interest and the clandestine correspondence. She knew Robb would definitely not approve in the least. No, he would certainly be quite tiresome on the subject. Nevertheless, she felt he had no moral leg to stand on with regards to their ‘ _responsibilities_ ’ to the family.

Not that it really mattered: Mr Stone had his days numbered. Sansa would wait until the middle of winter, when Mr. Baratheon would be very unlikely to leave Kings Landing, to send one or two more letters, before announcing somehow that Mr Alayn Stone had passed, probably from something he had caught whilst going beyond the Wall.

After sighing at the sad thought of her second identity’s forthcoming death, Sansa forced herself to stand and leave her father’s old study to find the elusive Arya and make sure she took a bath and combed the mess that was her hair.

 

. . .

 

Finally some hours later, they were welcomed by the host and hostess of the party, as well as their first son. Jeyne had a bright smile on her face, Sansa tried to go for a pleasant, courteous look, Bran – who had also been roped into going, being four and ten and then old enough, in Jeyne’s book – had the sombre look that their father use to wear, and Arya was scowling, clearly wearing a dress and having her hair in a neat bun was the extent of her efforts for the evening.

 

When they entered the Florents’ house, Sansa was surprised to note how active the party seemed: it was definitely a larger gathering than what she had expected. - Then again: having already done four seasons, Sansa knew that Mrs Florent was getting quite desperate to find her daughter, Selyse, a husband.

Sansa couldn't help but feel a little sorry for Selyse in this matter. In addition to having little admiration for her mother, Sansa thought the daughter was a quiet, unassuming girl, to the point that she could be described as ‘meek’. This was probably why she did nothing but follow her over-bearing mother’s constant suggestions and instructions. It also did not help that Selyse was not a particularly attractive woman, making the task of finding a husband even less easy.

After having exchanged a few pleasantries with the host and hostess, Sansa had taken Arya by the hand and wandered round the party. By the time they had made their way to the drawing room, Jeyne had thankfully found a friend and Bran seemed to be talking with the younger Florent son and another boy.

 

As she was surveying the room, a voice came from behind her:

“Miss Stark, I must say I am pleased to see you decided to join the party.”

Reluctantly she turned, confirming her suspicions: _Theon Greyjoy_... _the man is persistent I will give him that_.

Unfortunately, Theon Greyjoy was more than that: he was pleasant, charming, but it did not help that he was all too aware of his handsome looks and prowess in certain sports, which made him arrogant and continually wear a cocky smile. It also didn’t help that Sansa had heard one too many stories about him and a maid or tales if him and the blacksmith’s daughter.

Forcing a small smile, she reluctantly returned the greeting: “Mr Greyjoy, good evening. I-”

“-You _still_ _really_ _think_ you have a chance with my sister?”

Sansa had momentarily forgotten that Arya had been standing next to her, but in that moment she could have kissed her. Thankfully at the blunt question, Mr Greyjoy had turned his attention to Arya and did not notice the laugh Sansa swallowed.

His smile disappearing, Mr Greyjoy was still able to courteously reply: “Miss Arya Stark, always as refined as ever I see... I was merely stating my support and contentment that your sister had joined the Florents’ soiree.”

In a mock manner, Arya retorted: “And I was ‘ _merely_ _stating’_ that you should probably focus your attentions elsewhere, where you would probably have more chance of being successful.”

A scowl was definitely on Theon Greyjoy’s face now.

Before Arya could say anymore, or Sansa loose her composure, she decided best to quickly cut in:

“It was really nice seeing you again Mr Greyjoy, unfortunately, I have just seen Miss Selyse and I had promised her I would explain to her how to properly arrange a bouquet of Winter Blue Roses so they look beautiful whilst staying in bloom for the longest amount of time.”

Turning back his gaze to Sansa, Theon Greyjoy’s eyes soften somewhat before he gave a reluctant nod of acceptance: “You should be the one to receive roses Miss Stark...”

Before Sansa could voice a thanks for the compliment, Arya gave a very un-lady-like snort, making Sansa swiftly move the both of them far from Mr Greyjoy as possible, secretly glad that she had had an excuse to leave the man’s presence.

“Come, let’s find Selyse... It probably _would_ be a good idea to actually present ourselves to the host’s daughter.”

 

Unfortunately, so focused she was on Arya and getting away from Mr Greyjoy, that Sansa did not notice the two men coming their way until she practically collided into one of them, her face nearly hitting a wall of a dark man’s jacket:

“Oh... I’m so sorry, I-“

Looking up to the man’s face, she stopped, the person strangely seeming familiar, before she let out a small gasp.

She couldn’t believe it had taken her a few moments to realise she had virtually run into _Mr Baratheon_. It was not merely the surprise of seeing him, here, in Mrs Florent’s drawing room, but also remarking on how different he looked in his evening attire. It definitely suited him: the coat accentuated his wide shoulders, his cravat was crisp and his hair nicely combed into place, not to mention the fact that he had clearly shaved just before the party.

However, her scrutiny was somewhat put to a halt when he spoke a little gruffly: “Miss Stark, are you all right?... I am truly sorry, I must apologise for the inadvertent loss of balance I caused...”

With the comment, Sansa realised that she had not only nearly bumped into Mr Baratheon, but she had been staring at the man for quite a few moments. Blushing nervously, she stuttered a response:

“M-Mr Baratheon... good evening... I mean: I am the one that should be apologising, I was not paying attention to where I was going, trying to get away from- ... I mean, I was trying to... what I meant to say was that I just was not paying attention to where I was going.”

Becoming more and more aware that she was babbling nonsense, Sansa quickly pulled Arya a little closer to herself, and looked at her sister:

“... let me introduce my younger sister: Miss Stark... Miss Arya Stark... And over there is one of my brothers, Bran Stark."

At the introduction, Sansa noticed Mr Baratheon shift the slightest amount, his gaze coming and stopping for a pause on Arya, his brows coming closer together as if he was trying to place her, before he followed to where she indicated, noticing Bran with Erren Florent. Another moment passed before his eyebrows rose, and what seemed to be something dawning on him, before Mr Baratheon shifty turned his curious gaze back on to Arya once more, before giving her a small bow:

“ _Miss_ Stark.”

There was another pause before Mr Baratheon seemed to remember his own companion, and he finally spoke again: “Miss Stark, Miss Stark: this is my friend Mr Davos Seaworth.”

Looking at Mr Seaworth more astutely at the introduction, and then as the man responded to the greeting, Sansa couldn’t but note how _jubilant_ the man seemed, especially compared to Mr Baratheon, as if he was enjoying a pleasantry that none of the rest of them were privy to.

 

 

**. . . . . . . .**

 

 

Davos had persuaded Stannis to take his mind off plants and Mr Stone for one day, and they had instead spent most of the day on going up the White Knife River, till they reached to the Long Lake to do some sailing and fishing. Stannis acknowledged that the day had been pleasant and he had enjoyed being on the water with his friend.

On the other hand, this little escapade did not stop Stannis’ mind to revert back on how to possibly find Mr Stone or his assistant and the elusive ‘ _Sansa_ ’, on several occasion.

– Moments like this one, where he was trying – and probably failing miserably - to not look as bored as he was from the dinner party and to not think about his current predicament.

 

The sound of Davos’ chuckling beside him brought him back to the present.

“I think I have found someone who wants be here even less than you.”

Feeling of a gracious mood, Stannis obliged his friend and followed Davos’ line of sight. It was then that he noticed the two women near the door, obviously having only come into the drawing room a few moments ago, and that, as Davos had just pointed out, one was clearly not truly keen on the festivities, going by the scowl on her face. Stannis frowned when the young lady’s demeanour seemed familiar to him. However, before he could place where he might recognise it from, he saw that the grimace only grew further when a gentlemen came to introduce himself to the two ladies; or more specifically, to the other lady.

His attention having been shifted to the other lady, he realised that at least _her_ he could definitely identify: _Miss Stark_.

He said as much to Davos:

“Her companion is Miss Stark, from Winterfell Manor.”

Looking over the young lady, Davos gave a small whistle of approval, making Stannis regret the introduction.

“Well, she is definitely more than ‘pretty’: she is _gorgeous_.”

“I don’t think Mrs Seaworth would be too happy hearing you say such a statement about another lady, Davos.”

Rolling his eyes, Davos replied: “Stannis you must be blind and mad if you do not think the young lady beautiful, and are not the least bit interested in her... – Come, you must introduce me.”

 

 

As he nearly collided with Miss Stark, Stannis wondered how it could have possibly gone worse.

Unbalanced and caught off guard, when Miss Stark introduced Davos and him to her younger sister, Stannis doubted that his facial expression had been at all subtle in his surprise that the two women were in fact sisters: they were nothing alike – _like night and day_.

Subsequently, when Miss Stark had also pointed out her brother from across the room, realisation struck: one of the two youths from the previous day had been _Miss Stark’s brother_ , whilst the other had been the _younger Miss Stark_. He hadn’t recognised her straight away as she had been wearing clothes suitable for a young _boy_ on the previous encounter and her general appearance had been quite messy and dirty.

That was when another idea struck: there was a chance that Miss Stark – the _eldest_ – was the ‘ _Sansa’_ that the two siblings had mentioned the day before.

Did that mean that Miss Stark was the one in a secret affair with 'Mr Stone' and the one who was truly hiding the man possible true identity? - _It would explain while she seemed on such familiar terms with the man and their apparent close relationship..._

Now the key would be to test his potential theory.

 

 

Barely any moment had passed after Davos had exchanged a bit of small talk with both Stark ladies – even being able to charm the tom-boy – that their group was joined by Mr and Mrs Florent, as well as their daughter.

More introductions and pleasantries done, Mrs Florent spoke in a commanding voice to her daughter, whilst looking at Stannis:

“Selyse, you must challenge Mr. Baratheon to supply you with the long names of all the plants you used in those lovely arrangements you made in the hall.”

Her daughter turned to him and obligingly asked : “Oh... yes. Could you, Mr. Baratheon?”

Forcing a smile, Stannis courteously replied: “I can certainly try. Are you interested in botany, Miss Florent?”

The young lady looked a little dejected when she admitted: “I know very little of it,” before she quickly added, “but I’m sure I would love to learn.”

Mrs. Florent beamed: “Yes, Selyse has always been a diligent pupil: she learnt all her lessons more fast than any of the other girls.”

\- ... _lessons **more quickly** than_...

“But, I believe High Valyrian is necessary for botany, Mama.”

Mrs Florent persisted: “Yes, but Mr. Baratheon cannot expect you to know High Valyrian. Though I do not doubt your Papa could teach you if you wish to learn.”

“Indeed... if it would allow me to understand Mr. Baratheon’s work, I would be very interested.”

 

At the whole exchange between mother and daughter, Stannis had been at a loss as to what to say, whilst trying to ignore Davos’ irritating grin. – His friend had been right: Mrs Florent was _definitely_ _very_ keen on finding a suitable husband for her daughter.

Trying to regain himself, he stumbled a response:

“There is no especial need to learn High Valyrian, Miss Florent. Several of the most known studies and the most widespread books have been translated very tolerably into the Common Tongue by Dr Colemon.”

Although, at his response, he couldn’t help but notice that Miss Stark raised an eyebrow, making him add:

“Though some, Dr Aemon Targaryen among them, would prefer a more… _faithful_ translation. Isn’t that so, Miss Stark?”

The young lady blinked at the question: “I only-”

Though she was quickly interrupted by Mr Florent inquiring:

“-Is that Dr Targaryen who wrote The Botanic Garden? Not at all the thing for young ladies.”

Stannis forced to bite back a retort to the obvious mistake and comment, but instead replied: “No, well, perhaps Mr. Tarly’s Botany would answer better. What say you, Miss Stark? Does Mr. Stone have any views on the matter?”

He noticed the lady’s cheeks redden as she stammered a reply: “I don’t know that he does, though I know he favours Targaryen’s classification to Colemon’s.”

Unfortunately, before Stannis could ask Miss Stark any more – probably having decided that the subject had strayed away too much from her daughter - Mrs Florent spoke up, announcing dinner.

 

 

 

**. . . . . . .**

 

 

At dinner Sansa was seated between Imry Florent, the elder of the sons, and Mrs. Seaworth. She first exchanged a few words with the gentleman. However he seemed as shy as his sister, and seemed more interested in sailing than his mother’s dinner parties. Like his sister, he unfortunately also had the other unfortunate Florent trait of overly large ears, which Sansa had to force herself not to stare at when they were speaking.

Thankfully, Imry Florent soon went on to converse with Dr Luwin on his other side.

 

Not soon after Sansa had been left to her devises, Mrs Seaworth whispered:

“Oh dear, I do think that Mrs Florent’s careful planning in the seating has been in vain.”

Confused, Sansa followed where the lady was gazing and sure enough, near the other end of the table she could notice Selyse having been placed between to Mr Baratheon and Mr Greyjoy, most likely the two most advantageous bachelors of the evening. Unfortunately neither man seemed to be giving much of their attention to the lady, and she clearly was at a loss as to what to do.

Wanting to defend the poor Selyse somewhat, Sansa stated: “I think Selyse could make a good wife.”

“Yes, but probably no one suitable for either gentleman. Mr Greyjoy seems very much interested in the _physical appearance_ of ladies. As for Mr. Baratheon, even if he did have any kind of interest in settling down, he would want someone to converse more purposefully with, and, although I am sure Miss Florent is a very interesting woman, I’m not quite sure she would be up to the task.”

With a small chuckle, Mrs Seaworth then added: “In any case, Miss Florent is not the only way the hostess’s efforts have not been fruitful.”

This time, Sansa was truly confused, and gave a small bewildered look at her dinner companion. Chuckling once more, Mrs Seaworth explained:

“I do believe that Mrs Florent hoped that your attention would be more focused on your _left_.”

Momentarily looking in the opposite direction, Sansa realised the implications of the comment and felt her cheeks redden.

 

Not wanting to discuss her own possible prospects, Sansa shifted the subject:

“So, have you and your husband been long acquainted with Mr. Baratheon?”

“Oh, he and Mr. Seaworth became friends not long after we were married. They met by chance in Kings Landing and soon became comrades of sorts. Though in truth, I am not certain why they’re friends, Miss Stark, for my husband has no interest in the sciences, and Mr. Baratheon has grown to be such an eminent man in the field. They cannot have much in common, and yet I suppose men do not need common topics of discussion as much as we women do.”

“Did you stay long in Kings Landing?”

“Born and lived there most of our lives, until our eldest took over from Mr Seaworth about a year and a bit ago; with that my husband and I thought it best to take life more easily in the country. Unfortunately for both Mr Baratheon and Mr Seaworth though, Mr Baratheon is not at that stage of his life yet. Hopefully, he will soon decide to slow down on his work and attend a few more social gatherings that are not composed entirely of scientific men. Mr. Seaworth has been trying to convince him for months to visit us, and I want to make it count.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chance meeting

 

 

As they turned the corner, Sansa looked in the distance, towards the other end of their new street, and suggested hopefully:

“Shall we go to Mr Reed‘s bookshop?”

Unfortunately, Jeyne gave out a small huff of disapproval:

“ _More_ books Sansa? You will be thought bookish if you do not take care...”

\- ... _And will never catch a husband.._.

Sansa inwardly chastised herself; of course Jeyne would object. It was one thing if Sansa sought an excursion to purchase ribbons or fabrics, but visiting an out of way bookshop was quite another. It didn’t help matters either that Jeyne was sulking that they had not gone to the Manderly luncheon today; even though they had gone to Mrs Florent’s dinner party two days ago, and joined the Mormont ladies for tea yesterday. She had even allowed herself to be dragged on a short stroll with Jeyne, Mr Greyjoy and his sister.

But Sansa would have no more of her sister-in-law’s strop or her words of ‘ _advise’._ – It wasn nearly two days since Sansa had time to herself or she had not even taken the time to look over her new samples once since before the dinner!

She stated with finality: “Well, I will leave you to admire patterns, I will be going to visit the bookshop. I shall meet you there when you done.” Before strolling down the street, giving no pause in which Jeyne could object.

 

**.**

 

It took a mere fifteen minutes to recognize the shop window. Energized by her resolve and by the walk itself, Sansa proceeded to the door with a bounce in her step. She pushed down on the handle and entered, a tiny bell jingling, alerting Mr Reed of a new customer’s arrival.

Noticing her, the shopkeeper swiftly moved over to Sansa, a welcoming smile on his face:

“Good afternoon, my lady. Your coming is most fortuitous: the requested package arrived not three days ago. We also have some new selections that might be of interest.”

Sansa couldn’t help but let her smile grow at the news: “You did?”

 

When stepping closer to the main counter, her gaze caught upon someone at the opposite end of the small shop. Her mouth transformed into a small surprised ‘ _o’_ , as her eyes took in the tall figure. It had only been a couple of days since his visit and Mrs Florent’s Dinner Party, but there could be no mistaking the other occupant of the shop: ‘ _Mr Alayn Stone_ ’s correspondent, Mr Baratheon.

 

 _Bugger_!

Her heart rate definitely accelerating, Sansa couldn’t help but feel a little peeved by his presence: one of the reasons she had agreed to all of Jeyne’s outings yesterday was because she had been trying to avoid the man. – Which was also one of the reasons she had refused to go to the Manderly luncheon today: Lyra Mormont had clearly said that the Seaworths and Mr Baratheon were supposed to be there today, at this hour!

Although Sansa was partially pleased that the man had come all this way to meet his botanist correspondent, avoiding Mr Baratheon proved to be necessary. Everytime she was near the man, she was too tempted to try and converse properly with him, as they would do in their letters. – The appeal to talk about botany and their respective works was just too great. If she stayed to close, it meant a higher chance of Mr Barathen finding her out. No it would be best to avoid the man until their normal _distant_ association could resume.

Unfortunately, before she could retrieve her order and hopefully make a swift retreat, she noticed the man’s shoulders stiffened, straining the fabric of his midnight black jacket, as though he had felt her gaze on him. In the next instant, Mr Baratheon turned, his dark blue eyes meeting her own Tully ones.

 

 _Bugger Twice_!

 

. . .

 

As Stannis looked over to Miss Stark, he wondered on the mere chance of her arrival at the bookshop.

In the last few days he had tried to continue in his search for Mr Alayn Stone. Unfortunately it seemed that providence would not let him resolve the matter. At the Florent Dinner, the meal had barely finished before the Stark family had taken their leave, interrupting any possible conversation Stannis may have tried to continue with Miss Stark. Even yesterday, when he had hoped to ask the young lady about her possible association with Mr Stone, it seemed that the elder Stark ladies had been otherwise occupied by womanly activities.

He did find it strange now that the young lady had ventured into a bookstore; _unchaperoned_ , no less.

Did young ladies not prefer visiting the modiste? Or having little cakes and tea, with their friends, talking about the latest gossip or fashion? - But he supposed she had possibly already done those things the day previous: – and how many times really did you need to go buy ribbons or talk of who had married who?

 

Still at a loss on how to proceed with this chance meeting, Stannis ended up scuffling with curt nod of the head:

“Miss Stark.”

With a small but no less graceful curtsy, she returned the greeting: “Mr Baratheon.”

Unfortunately, before he could say any more, she moved further into the store.

His brow creasing, Stannis returned his own gaze to the latest volume of Maester Colemon’s work, in his hands. He stared absently at the title, all the while considering how he would be able broach the subject of Mr Stone to Miss Stark, without sounding meddlesome or critical.

After the dinner, part of Stannis had concluded that maybe it had been best to not talk to Miss Stark without more basis to his assumptions. – If indeed she was hiding something... or that a secret liaison of sorts did in fact exist between herself and Mr Stone, it would not be best to find out why the need for secrecy , first?...

On the other hand, he however also continued to wonder if Mr Alayn Stone was only his pen-name... and knew for certain that Miss Stark would at least have the answer to that. Miss Stark seemed to be the most knowledgeable about his correspondent, and Stannis needed to meet him without any further delay!-

-“Oh! The new Colemon?”

Stannis’ body braced and his fingers tightened around the volume, as he reigned in the jerk that had run through him. He turned to face the young lady, once more. She gave him a small embarrassed smile in response, before she shyly looked at the floorboards, cheeks going rosy:

“My apologies Mr Baratheon, I... I came in to retrieve but wanted to see if there was anything else of interest...”

At the reply, Stannis’ own gaze went to the volume being pressed against her person. The way she clutched it to her chest hinted at a small amount of nervousness. However, at the stance, Stannis’ attention was drawn downward, to the crown of her bodice, hinting to what lay beneath.-

-“... _Mr Baratheon_?”

Stannis jerked his attention back up, to her blue, unblinking wide eyes, as Miss Stark looked at him quizzically. He gave his head a hard shake, before finding a suitable explanation to the debasing way he had just acted:

“Hum... I... It is my turn to apologise, Miss Stark. I couldn’t help but notice the book in your hands...”

At the reply, Miss Stark moved the item from her chest.

_ ‘The Origin of Plants’ _

Stannis blinked: the book was actually of great interest to him – Both Mr Stone and himself had mentioned the book on several occasions, sharing their eagerness for the book to be finally published and accessible to the general publice: Maester’s Aemon Targaryen and Sam Tarly’s joint deep exploration of the influence on plant distribution of temperature, soil factors, and light.

Stannis’ eyes did a quick inventory of the shelf.

Unfortunately it seemed that the lone, solitary copy of _The Origin of Plants_ was being tightly held in the lady’s fingers. Miss Stark seemed to have read his thoughts as a she shifted uncomfortably as she further explained:

“... I... I... an order had been placed for this volume... it came directly from the Citadel...- ”

\- “Do you require any assistance, my lady?”

Stannis tensed once more at the unexpected appearance of the shopkeeper, who’s curious gaze alternated between Miss Stark and himself.

Miss Stark also seemed to have been taken aback by the man’s sudden presence, by the way she stammered a reply:

“N-no, thank you Mr Reed, I am finding everything I need. – Mr Baratheon was just expressing interest on my volume.”

Looking down at the book that had been their focus, the shop keeper proudly exclaimed turning to Stannis:

“Miss Stark would be able to tell you how efficient and capable we are here. Even if this is not Kings Landing, we are never lax in keeping up with the literary world, and the latest publications that might be of interest to our customers. The volume arrived on the selves only last week, and with Captain Stark apparent similar interest to his late father’s for the world of botany, Miss Stark expressed her enthusiasm to receive a copy before he returned, as a welcome home present... Miss Stark is ever so kind to keep the volumes ready for her brother’s return.”

 

**. . .**

 

As much as she usually liked Mr Reed and how resourceful he proved to be, Sansa wanted to smack the man silly for the words he had just spoken.

On a few occasions, _yes_ , she would have the latest botany volumes ordered to the bookshop. However she couldn’t well enough order them in her _own_ name or have them ordered under Mr Alayn’s Stones name and then have her – an unattached lady – retrieve them for him. – That would be most unseemly...

... So the idea to use her brother as an excuse, whilst he was away, had seemed suitable enough.

 

She knew of Mr Baratheon interest in the book – they had both written about it often enough in their last letters. Sansa herself had been looking forward to not only reading Master Aemon Targaryen and Master Sam Tarly’s co-juncture work for an inordinate amount of time, but also discussing it with Mr Baratheon in their letter exchange.

Sansa glanced down at the book. - She really couldn’t reveal her own keenness for the book; Mr Baratheon might find it odd... and possibly suspicious... Also with the added fact that she had not mentioned that her brother also had an interest in botany... ‘ _interest’_ being greatly exaggerated.

 

... Mr Baratheon himself had been the first to talk about the book and eagerly anticipating its print to the public.

After a few moments reflection, she cleared her throat as she held the book out to Mr Baratheon. “Here.”

He stood stock-still, studying both book and her with such an inscrutable expression that Sansa pressed the volume into his hands.

“I... my brother is still away... I am sure I will be able to retrieve another copy before his return.”

“I don’t need—”

“It is no trouble Mr Baratheon – I’m sure you don’t _need_ it, but sometimes, it is nice to simply find something one _wants_.”

Before he could reply, Sansa dipped into a small curtsy and moved on down the long rows of shelving. All the while, she felt his gaze following her every movement, boring a hole into her back. She stole a sideways peek and found him rooted to the same spot, studying her as if she were a creature from beyond the Wall.

Shiver running down her spine, trying to ignore his stare and give herself something to do, Sansa yanked her gaze back to the books in front of her and tugged free the closest one. Her eyes glazed over the cover and first pages without her actually knowing what was written.

A low voice, right behind her, spoke: “I do not accept pity or charity, Miss Stark.”

Having not realised that he had moved, Sansa jumped, the book in her hand tumbling to the floor and landed upon the tips of her slipper. A gasp escaped her, as she shifted the injured toes.

Mr Baratheon moved clumsily towards her, grimacing: “... Are you alright?”

She tried to hide her wince, shifting to alleviate the throbbing ache in her toes. “I survive three younger siblings on a daily basis, I imagine I will endure a small foot injury more easily.”

The frown still present on his face, Sansa did however notice a certain sense of relief in his eyes as he said: “Well I hope you accept my apology for making you drop your book.”

He bent down and retrieved the fallen book. He turned it over in his hands, looking over the title, his familiar frown shifted to one surprise, his eyes enlarging, blinking down a few times. Sansa glanced at the title, and heat flooded her cheeks: _The Works of Oberyn Martell_ , Martell, the revolutionary writer, philosopher, and adventurer, famous for his scandalous works and even more so his libertine sexuality. – _Gods_ , now Mr Baratheon was probably thinking she actually read such... _material_ ; he probably thought her no better than a hussy...

She quickly took the proffered the book from his hands and promptly stuffed it back on the shelf, as she stammered hurriedly: “I don’t read Mr Martell’s work... I-I had accidentally misread the spine... read it wrong...” still feeling very embarrassed, Sansa bit the inside of her cheek to before feeling it be best to make that hasty exit now: “Very well, then. I must be going.”

Before the gentleman could utter any response, she spun on her heel and quickly exited the shop.

Once outside, she took a long breath; still feeling quite foolish of the whole exchange.

– At least he had not asked about Alayn Stone... _the northern botanist lives on... Mr Baratheon would probably be horrified to realise he had ever been associating with **me**_...

 

Sighing, she looked around her for any sign of Jeyne.

Unfortunately, not long had passed when she heard the faint jingle of the bell from inside the bookshop. Sansa’s back straightened, and she resisted the urge to glance over her shoulder, hoping above all else that _he_ had not followed her out...

But she didn’t need to look: his commanding presence soon appeared alongside hers.

Before Sansa could say anything, Mr Baratheon extended something to her and said gruffly: “Here.”

She blinked at the wrapped package in his hands.

His voice still as brusque, he ordered: “Take it.”

Sansa looked around, conscious to the impropriety of accepting a gift from a gentleman, in a very public place, no less. However, as the streets remained thankfully empty of any passersby, she accepted the wrapped package and proceeded to open it.

_ The Origin of Plants _

Her heart did a quick pause, before starting to beat at a faster tempo.

“No, you mustn’t…”

However, looking up and spinning to the side, she realised that Mr Baratheon had already started to walk away, his long strides having put already quite a considerable distance between them.

Sansa blinked from the retreating figure back down to the book in her hand, trying to make sense of what had just happened.

However, her confusion was soon interrupted by her sister-in-law’s ever recognisable voice calling out to her: “ _Sansa!_ ”

Within moments, Jeyne was standing next to her, looking from Sansa to the package in her hands:

“Oh Sansa... must you have bought another of those plant books?... you could have at least gotten something of interest, like Daenerys Targaryen’s book on _Marish Silks and Patterns_ or at least Margery Tyrell’s _Flower Arrangements_.”

Sana held a hand up: “You are quite right, Jeyne: I need to return to the bookshop, if you just give me one more moment.”

 

 

**. . .**

 

 

At long last, Stannis arrived back at his friend’s townhouse. As if on cue, the door opened, and Davos’ butler greeted him with a bow:

“Mr Baratheon.”

Once inside, the man added: “I was instructed to inform you Sir that Mr and Mrs Seaworth have gone to the Manderly‘s residence for an early luncheon.”

Stannis gave a curt nod in acknowledgement before he continued further down the long corridor, before entering Davos’ library.

Settling in one of the arm chairs, he opened the book he purchased from the bookshop, fanning through several pages, refusing to give any thought to the whole exchange that had happened in and in front of the bookshop.

 

 

Quite a few minutes later a knock sounded at the door.

Realising that none of the words he had been reading had actually sunk in, Stannis welcomed the interruption, snapping the leather volume closed with a decisive snap, and calling out: “Enter.”

The door opened, the butler coming in: “Mr Baratheon, a package arrived for you.”

Stannis frowned. _\- A package for me... sent here_?

The butler hesitantly sought Stannis, as he held the package a little higher: “Mr Baratheon?”

Shaking himself, Stannis set his book down upon the side table and quickly stood up, taking the mysterious item clumsily, still very much wondering what it could possibly be and who it could be from: “Of course...er.. thank you.”

 

It was only once the butler had and excused himself from the room that Stannis allowed himself to look over to the package. However, he soon hesitated as the wrapping seemed familiar. Frowning further, he slowly undid the ribbon and opened the covering paper:

 _The Origin of Plants: a joint venture_ , by Maester Aemon Targaryen and Maester Sam Tarly.

Blinking, having read the full title a few times within the last minute, he proceeded to quickly scan through the work...

A note slipped out.

Curiosity continuing to rise, Stannis bent down and opened the missive:

 

_‘Mr Baratheon,_

_I understand you find my earlier manner questionable. Nevertheless, in spite of how it may have seemed, I was not pitying or acting on a sense of charity to you. I greatly appreciate the kindness you showed letting me have the sole copy of The Origin of Plants._

_It is my understanding, as you have previously explained it to me directly, that you are only here on short visit to your friend, Mr Seaworth._

_With my brother not here to admire Maester Targaryen‘s work, I hope that you would at least let me lend you - another one of the great botanist’s ardent followers- the volume, during your stay in the area._

_I hope you enjoy the pages, as they should be enjoyed._

_Signed,_

_Miss Sansa Stark’_

 

Even after reading it, Stannis examined the note for quite a while longer; almost willing there to be more written.

 

Letter in hand, Stannis made his way over to the desk chair and sat. Though once settled in the leather chair, he hesitated: propriety would most likely find it objectionable to write a note to a young – _unmarried_ \- lady... but then again _she_ had written a note first... and she was lending him the book in proxy of her brother... Would it not be more unseemly to not answer with his gratitude?

 

Satisfied with his reasoning, Stannis tugged open the front drawer and pulled out a single sheet of parchment. Then, reaching for a pen, he dipped it in an inkwell and...

... no word came to mind.

Stannis frowned, at a loss as to what exactly to write to a young lady... the tip of the pen tapped the paper.

After a few moments, still lacking in inspiration, he decided it best to start by writing the date and addressing the young lady at least.

He had barely finished writing the last two letters to the young lady's name when the sound of the door opening, leading him to inadvertently scratch the pen against the paper.

\- _Bugger_!

 

Scowl firmly in place, he raised his head to the intruder-

\- and ended up watching with narrowed eyes his friend entering the room. Davos’ met his eye briefly, giving him a matching glare, before striding over to the table with crystal decanters and poured himself a brandy. The older man soon wandered over to claim the seat across from Stannis, and huffed loudly.

“I. Can. Not. _Believe_ you left me alone to deal with the luncheon, Stannis... All those women...”

“The invitation had been sent to _your_ house, for _you_ and _your_ wife.”

Davos rolled his eyes in annoyance: “You and I both know the only reason Marya had accepted the invitation was for _you_ to possibly meet a suitable lady. In any case, the invitation had clearly stated that you were more than welcome to join, and trust me: the ladies there seemed more than a little upset that I showed up and not-”

Glass in hand, Davos gaze paused a moment on the desk, his eyes narrowing.

“- What are you doing?”

It was only then that Stannis realised his mistake: he had forgotten to move either Miss Stark’s letter or his own reply from view. Davos craned his neck in a clear attempt to read his private correspondence. – Not that he had a private correspondence with Miss Stark; he was only responding a note of thanks.

Unease ran through him, as Stannis tried to shift both papers out of sight, under his arms and the sought after botany book.

“Stannis, I say: are you all right?”

Stannis snapped: "Fine.”

“Truly? Because you seem even more surly and awkward than usual...?”

As Stannis only continued to glare at him, Davos continued, uncaring for the scowl: “... well, in any case you will be happy to hear that you did not miss Miss Stark’s presence at the luncheon as neither her nor her sister-in-law attended.”

Miss Stark’s face flashed into his mind, but Stannis would be remised to encourage Davos. Frowning, Stannis snapped:

“Why should I care if she was there or not? - The lady’s affairs are her own.”

Davos took a sip. “Oh? - I’d just imagined you’d be curious about the young lady.”

Teeth starting to grind, Stannis narrowed his gaze n his friend:

“And why exactly would I be curious about the lady?”

Davos passed his glass back and forth between his hands. “...Why to find your botany friend... have you not spent the last few days pestering me about the man? If that is not of any importance any longer, then I shall not mention…” He took another slow, deliberate drink.

... _Alayn Stone... of course..._

How could he be so foolish as to forget the main aim of his trip: to find his correspondent. – The whole exchange with Miss Stark had been so particular that Stannis had actually completely forgotten Mr Stone, let alone mentioned him to the young lady.

Even though he had no interest in playing Davos’ game, Stannis couldn’t help but show a certain level of curiosity – for Mr Stone _only; - n_ _othing_ to do with the young lady:

“What?”

“Rumours are circling about Miss Stark and Mr Greyjoy... I first thought that he might possibly be your friend Stone, but then the man did not seem to suit, from what I remember of Mrs Florent’s party...”

Stannis’ brows dipped also remembering the young man from the dinner: a pompous dandy if he ever saw one. He found it hard to believe Miss Stark be associated to such a man ... No, Mr Stone was definitely not Mr Greyjoy...

Unaware of his musings, Davos continued:

“However, it is my understanding that both her brother and her sister-in-law are pushing for a match between the two. It would seem that Mr Greyjoy and the brother are comrades from school, growing up close.”

Davos carried on with a wave of his hand. “It also seems would seem Greyjoy is the only remaining son of Admiral Greyjoy and is to inherit quite a bit of money when his father passes.”

At the account, Stannis was struck by sympathy for Miss Stark. Such a spirited, sensible woman deserved far more than a marriage of convenience or one that was pushed forward because of her brother’s own friendship with the man.

Stannis coughed awkwardly: “I... I hope the lady a successful marriage... though you are correct: I will need ask Miss Stark further detail on Mr Stone.”

 

Mentioning his own friend once more, Stannis wondered if Mr Greyjoy and his friendship with the brother was possibly one of the reasons for Miss Stark to hide Mr Stone.

 

 


End file.
